


I Ran

by bluerib



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alpha Stiles, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, BAMF Stiles, Beta Scott McCall, F/F, F/M, Full Shift Werewolves, Gen, Hurt Derek Hale, M/M, Wolf Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 17:19:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6916240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluerib/pseuds/bluerib
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek's been running non-stop for days when he stumbles into Beacon Hills, bleeding and confused. The local pack tracks him down and he finds himself wanting to stay. But Derek's been on the run for a long time and for good reasons. At this point, stopping may not even be an option, no matter how powerful Alpha Stilinski is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Ran

**Author's Note:**

> Title and inspiration comes from Hidden Citizen's song "I Ran," which was part of the Teen Wolf soundtrack. The underage warning comes from Kate Argent's relationship with Derek, as does the non con. There are mentions of it, but there are no actual rape scenes or explicit descriptions. This work isn't rated, so please pay attention to the warnings and notes at the beginnings of the chapters if you're concerned about content. 
> 
> I was going to finish Lost first, but this idea has been stabbing me in the muse for a while now.

A bolt buries itself into the tree next to his head, splintering wood where it would have splintered bone. There’s another bolt buried in his femur, creaking with every step he takes. It hurts, of course it does, but there’s no time to stop and pry it out. 

They come crashing through the brush behind him, catching up even though he’s a wolf and they’re human. He’s so weak though that it doesn’t surprise him. 

Derek jerks to the left, avoiding a spray of wolfsbane laden bullets. 

He wouldn’t’ have even noticed it if it weren’t for the howls. A pang of fear runs through him. Hunters are one thing, but another pack? He hadn’t even noticed crossing into pack territory. There’s no way he’ll survive the encounter and he knows that other packs don’t take kindly to omegas wandering into their territory; let alone omegas who bring a small army of hunters with them. Derek knows the price of endangering the pack, he’s just not sure he can pay it. 

The pain is far from the first thing on his mind right now as he breaks the shaft of a bolt. He needs to escape, find some place to heal a little and wait for the hunters to be taken care of. 

The hunters are no longer chasing him; Derek can hear their screams before they’re engulfed in a cacophony of snarls. A loud howl cuts through the night. Derek shivers: the alpha. 

It’s cowardly but he can’t stick around and worry about honor if he wants to live. Derek takes off into the dark and away from the pack of wolves. He’ll need to find some water to throw them off and get rid of some of his scent. A garbage dump would be a perfect hiding place, he just needs to find one. With his nose in the air Derek tracks the faint smell of rot until it gets stronger. He leaves a shirt hanging in up a tree in the forest in hopes that it’ll confuse the other wolves. 

His shoes he threw into the open window of a car. Anything to throw the pack off. 

Shirtless and barefoot Derek finds the city’s garbage disposal. He climbs the chain link fence, scratching his torso and hands on the barbed wire top. The smell of decay is strong; hopefully rotting food and plastic will be enough to cover his scent until he’s a little more healed up. 

Derek finds the corpse of an old car that he hides out in. There are holes in the roof where moonlight pokes through and the undercarriage has already been taken cover by nature. It isn’t the first time Derek has slept amongst the weeds, he’s not bothered by the way the stems scratch against his bare skin. 

There’s no drifting to sleep for him, one minute it’s dark and the next it’s light. He doesn’t remember falling asleep.

The wounds scattered along his battered body haven’t started healing yet. He’s too malnourished to even begin recovering—couldn’t even maintain a beta form to fight off the hunters. Derek runs his blunt fingernails over each of his ribs, pausing to press lightly on the mottled purple bruise he got while running. They’d rammed him with their car, chased him to the road where one of their associates could run him over. 

Oddly enough the impact is probably what saved him. Had he not gone flying he would have been close enough to stab with the wolfsbane knife he knows the hunter had been carrying. 

The head of the bolt is still buried deep into the bone in his femur. Derek will never get it out with just his hands and he can’t form the claws to dig it out. He needs a knife but when he tries getting up to find something he finds he can’t even sit up, let alone climb out of the car. 

Derek lays his head back in the dirt, heart pumping madly with increasing distress and dread. If he doesn’t get up he’s going to die. He thinks of the pony his family had kept when he was little, the day it had gotten sick and laid down. They couldn’t get it back up and it had died.

Derek doesn’t want to die, he needs to get up.

The muscles in his abdomen spasm when he tries again, rippling in pain. Derek lets out a high pitched, canine-like whine. He lays panting, vision a little blurry. Maybe it’s better this way? To just fall asleep and maybe not wake up. He’s so tired, been running so long. He’ll die before he goes back to the Argent family. 

Derek doesn’t want to be a slave anymore. He doesn’t want to hunt his own kind, hunt innocent humans—doesn’t want to be in her bed anymore. That’s a place he never wanted to be. 

The thin collar around his throat aches. It always hurts, but he’s had it for so long that he’s learned to ignore it. Today it comes to the forefront of his mind, a constant reminder of what he is. They fastened it to him when he was a teenager, welded it shut around his throat. It has no clasps, no way to take it off without bolt cutters. Except it’s so tight no that Derek is sure it’s embedded in his very skin. 

Kate hadn’t had it lengthened since he was 17. It’s been 6 years. He hasn’t spoken for the last 3, Kate hadn’t minded, said he didn’t need to talk. After all, he could still scream and that was enough for her. 

Derek doesn’t know how long he lays there, thinking about his past. His pack is dead, has been for so long. Sometimes he feels the ghosts of the pack bonds—feels Peter and Cora and Laura and laughs and laughs because he remembers the smell of burning flesh, the sear of fire turning the bodies and bonds to ash. The dry taste of ash floods his mouth and he turns on his side, dry heaving because there’s nothing in his stomach to vomit. 

The light fades again as Derek drifts; another day gone, one day less. There’s a heavy ache in his bones and his left thigh throbs angrily, his femur a massive hurt. 

Another night passes. Derek stirs awake to the sound of voices. There’s a throbbing behind his eyes, and throbbing in his leg, and he knows he’s in no position to try and get away from whoever is out there right now. 

“—can’t smell anything besides rotting bread now!”

“I said I was sorry!”

“You’re very clearly not sorry.”

“Whatever, man. Let’s just finish poking around, alright? Lydia said it would be a good place to hide and she’s right. Maybe that wolf is here.”

The footsteps get closer. Derek’s breath catches, trapped in his lungs. He doesn’t dare move. 

They pause just outside the car, Derek can hear them inhaling deeply, trying to parse through the many scents. They must not smell him because they move on, muttering darkly about the smell of rot. 

Derek knows he can’t stay here. 

He gives it a couple of minutes because he knows they’ll be back, probably for a more thorough search, and he can’t be here for them to find. The rest he’s gotten is going to have to be good enough. Derek grips the edge of the car and forces himself to his feet. He staggers out from the car, grinding his teeth in pain. His leg is useless and drags along side him. 

It’s not ideal, but at least he’s up. 

The only reason he makes it as far as he does it because of the junk piled high along his side. The odds and ends make for a perfect railing to hang on to, even if he sticks his hand in what he thinks might be grape jelly somewhere along the way. 

All that’s left is to climb over the fence again. It’s broad day light and in his condition he can’t exactly walk through the front entrance. Someone will see him and call for an ambulance. The fence hadn’t seemed all that tall the other night though when he was running on fear and adrenaline. Now though, now that he’s exhausted and the infection has settled in, the fence might as well be a mountain. 

He takes a deep breath and grips the links, slotting his fingers into the open holes and tries to pull himself up. The fence makes a loud rattling noise and if the wolves are still around they’ve no doubt heard him. Derek can’t stop, just hauls himself up the fence. 

He makes it about half way before there’s an arm around his waist, ripping him away from the fence and tossing him to the ground. Derek can’t breathe when his back hits the dirt. He gapes like a fish out of water, trying to work his lungs around the pain. A hand grabs him by the throat and starts dragging him back. He can’t even try to fight the grip, can’t even writhe. 

The wolf dragging him through the dirt and dust is silent about it. Derek can’t see his face, every time he looks up he’s blinded by the sun. 

He’s being dragged to his death. Even if he had gotten away he would probably have just died in the woods from his wounds, would have just succumbed to the infection in his leg the moment it goes septic. It’ll probably be quicker this way.

“Holy shit man, stop fucking dragging him! Dude’s half dead, you’re going to kill him!”

The hand latched around his throat lets go and Derek drops to the ground. He lies there panting as the second wolf swings around to look at him. It’s a teenager. He’s got warm eyes and a crooked jaw line and he looks worried, smells worried too. 

“Jackson, call Stiles and Deaton. Tell him to meet us at the clinic.”

The wolf that had been dragging him, Jackson, growls but does as asked. Derek can hear him calling someone.

“You’re going to be okay, yeah? Can you tell me your name?” Derek can’t, just pants and whines pitifully, the wolf goes on, “Okay, that’s alright, we’re going to get you help. I have to get you to the car first though, okay? I’m going to lift you, it’s going to hurt.”

It hurts. A lot. It’s awkward because there’s no good grip for the wolf to get on him. Derek’s skin is slick with sweat so he keeps slipping and jarring his leg. The wolf eventually just apologizes and slings him up in a fireman’s carry. It hurts his ribs and the throbbing in his leg is ever present. What’s worse is the throbbing behind his eyes worsens as the blood rushes to his head. Derek manages to stay conscious though, even when they set him into the back of a big, blue jeep. He’s placed in the trunk. The wolf he doesn’t have a name for looks apologetic, but Derek doesn’t even care. 

The car smells like fried food, there’s a wrapper for curly fries a couple of inches from his face but Derek just turns his face the other way. 

Both wolves argue the moment they’re seated in the front. Jackson complains about the smell, he blames a Stiles for it. His tone is subdued though, his argument halfhearted. He’s not really blaming whatever a Stiles is. Maybe a pet?

Derek can’t think about it anymore though after they start the car. The movement has nausea rolling through him in violent waves and it’s taking every bit of concentration he has to not vomit all over the back of the car. They haven’t killed him yet—they’ve promised to help him like Derek isn’t an omega wolf that brought hunters down on the pack just days ago. These pups aren’t the alpha though. Derek won’t be safe unless the alpha says so. 

He manages to not heave stomach acid all over the back of the car. It was a near thing, with the way the wolf had been driving. They’d rounded a corner so suddenly that Derek had rolled into the wolf, smacking his leg against something in the process. Someone had yelped sorry multiple times, but Derek had been too busy curling on himself in pain to really hear it. 

It’s not like he could acknowledge it anyway. 

Thankfully they finally come to a halt. The trunk swings open and the light blinds Derek again when he lifts his head from where he’s tucked it under his arm. Jackson starts pulling on him, grabbing at his leg—his good one thankfully—and pulling him backwards towards the light. Derek has a moment of panic because the action is aggressive and has him instinctually struggling to not be dragged. 

“Jackson! Seriously, stop pulling on him! Go inside and get Deaton,” the other wolf shoves Jackson off of Derek and in the direction of the brick building they’ve parked outside of. Derek relaxes a little again, panting and shivering. He pulls himself back up into the car as far as he can with his back to the seats behind him. The wolf makes a soft, soothing noise in his chest. A rumbling that means he’s not going to try and maul Derek to death. It doesn’t matter, Derek isn’t giving him his back. 

The smell of sick animals and spicy magic assaults Derek’s nose. He whines and tries pressing back even farther because he’s never had a good experience with magic before. A bald, black man with a white coat on stands between Derek and the outside world. He frowns when he sees Derek.

“Stiles isn’t here yet, we’re going to wait for him,” he says to the wolf beside him, Jackson having disappeared inside. He addresses Derek, “My name is Dr. Alan Deaton. I’m a vet, but also an emissary. I can help you. No one here is going to hurt you. Can you walk? I’d like to get you inside so we can do something about your injuries.”

Derek can’t walk, but he also can’t say that. He just growls but it comes out more as a wheeze. Whatever facial expression he’s making must be enough for the doctor to understand what Derek can’t say though, because he sighs and nods like he’d been expecting that answer the whole time. 

“As I thought. Well, you can either allow us to pull you out or you can wait for the alpha to get here. He won’t hurt you, but he will want your injuries looked at and unfortunately I just can’t do that with my patient in a car.”

Derek tenses at the mention of the alpha. He knows he’ll have to meet him eventually, knows it’s inevitable. He’d rather not be cornered in a car, but it’s better than being pulled inside that building. If he goes in, Derek’s not sure he’s going to come out in anything other than a body bag. 

They have a staring match after that. Deaton watches him with a frown, his arms crossed. The wolf rocks on his feet nervously, looking between the two like he feels as though he should intervene but decides against it. Derek just curls his shoulders in and tries to get them to back off with just his eyes. He knows they’re flashing blue, knows that it probably concerns them that he’s taken the life of an innocent. He’s taken the lives of many innocents. 

A car pulls up just behind the doctor. Derek growls again, the wheezing noise coming from his chest. He knows who it is. The wolf and the doctor both back away. Derrek watches a woman with red hair step out of the driver’s side. A man gets out on the other side; he’s got dark hair and mole dotted skin. They approach the jeep without hesitation. There’s a gracefulness there that comes from knowing someone has your back. It’s something Derek hasn’t had in a long time. It’s also something that makes him tense even farther. 

The man smiles at him, “Hi there! I’m Stiles, you must be the guy those hunters were chasing. How about you scooch closer so we can help you out and get those wounds taken care of. Smells like you’ve got a bit of an infection going, big guy.”

Derek would rather swallow nails. The wheezing in his chest grows and he flattens even farther against the car, teeth bared. It’s stupid, to be challenging an alpha like this. Especially when he’s so wounded. The alpha must think so too because he doesn’t rise to the challenge like Derek expected. There’s no teeth or claws. The alpha just looks disappointed. 

“Right, I’ll take that as a no. I don’t really want to force you to do anything, but I also don’t want you to die. Last chance; scoot closer so we can help or I’m going to go in and get you.”

If he’s going to die, then it’s going to be on his terms. Derek snaps his blunt teeth again in warning, a warning the alpha ignores as he starts climbing into the jeep. The man can talk, Derek will give him that much.

“It really doesn’t need to be like this, I’m just saying,” the alpha hits his head against the roof of the car, “ow, fuck, this is a tight space—I’m just saying this could be like, super easy man. I really don’t want to hurt you, you smell hurt enough to last a life time.”

It’s true, Derek is probably saturated in the smell of pain. He might even smell a little bit like death. 

The alpha inches within reach, making soothing noises in his throat. It shouldn’t work, it hadn’t when the beta from before had done it, but it makes something uncoil in Derek’s chest. He wants to rest in that sound, wants to lay down and show his belly. He doesn’t. Derek has gotten very good at shying from his instincts. 

Stiles gets within swiping distance. Derek uses the back of the car’s seats to propel himself forward. He tackles the alpha within the confined space of the car, his bum leg getting kneed in the process. Derek can feel the head of the bolt shift and crack all the way through the bone. He howls as best he can around the collar, the pain fueling his anger. He’s been so angry for so long, and now he’s got something to focus his anger on. 

The alpha doesn’t fight to hurt him, just to subdue him. He clearly wants Derek to submit, but Derek hasn’t submitted to anyone in a long time and he isn’t about to start now. Even though his teeth are blunt like a human’s he’s still capable of latching on. When Stiles shifts and exposes the junction between his shoulder and neck Derek takes the opportunity and latches on to the skin there. 

It must trigger something in the man he’s pinning, because Stiles snarls angrily and flips them over. There’s no restraint there, just anger. Derek opens his jaws and lets go because Stiles is pressing against the collar and Derek can’t breathe. He tries to whine but nothing comes out because there’s no air going in. There’s no other choice for him.

Derek relaxes his muscles and tilts his head to the side, submitting to the alpha and exposing his throat. 

Stiles jerks away, surprise and guilt covering his features. “Sorry man, but biting me outside of the bedroom is kind of a no no.” He slides off of Derek, scooching back with his palms out and tipped upward. “You ready to come easy now?”

Derek keeps his eyes down as he drags himself closer to where the doctor is waiting for him. Stiles backs out first, looking ready to catch Derek when he gets to the end. At least, that’s what Derek is hoping for. His legs aren’t working properly and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to stand, let alone walk.

“There you go, big guy, nice and easy. I’ve got you,” Stiles murmurs into his ear as he lowers himself to the ground. The moment his feet touch pavement they give way, but Stiles catches him. They turn to head right into the clinic with the alpha practically carrying him. Derek can’t find it in himself to care anymore. Submitting hadn’t been easy, but now that he’s done it, it’s so easy to just let go of everything else. This alpha will take care of him, no harm will come to him. 

If he says it enough it may even be true.


End file.
